


CA-Rousal

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-03-03
Updated: 1999-03-03
Packaged: 2018-11-11 03:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11140476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray persuades Fraser to take part in a slave auction, with results that cause surprise, consternation, and jealousy.





	CA-Rousal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

CA-rousal

**M/M, Humor, Rated NC-17**  


_My twin brother Rupert thoroughly enjoyed his little jaunt to San Francisco in July, where he (naturally!) flirted with every Tongue, Dick, and Hairy. However, all that carousing in the Castro made him wonder how our heroes Ray and Benny would have reacted in a similar situation. That's why this tale of California-based arousal is called..._

#  CA-rousal

by 

##  Rupert Rouge 

* * *

"A _slave_ auction, Ray? Absolutely not! Out of the question. I refuse to have anything a-tall to do with such a-- such a--" 

Words had clearly failed the Mountie, who even in this dimly lit night club in San Francisco's Castro district could be seen to be turning pink with embarrassment. 

Ray Vecchio, on the other hand, was enjoying the sight of the pink tide spreading from Fraser's face all the way down to the open neck of his shirt. The Mountie's outwardly decorous demeanor was one of his greatest charms--because only he, Vecchio, knew how completely his Benny discarded that decorum in bed. Just thinking about what Benny had done to him last night was turning him on. Maybe it was, ah, turning him on a little too visibly, even for this atmosphere. Hastily, he moved to forestall any more objections on Benny's part and to prevent further hardening of his own part. 

"C'mon, Benny, you can't refuse! It's for kids! Poor little kids who're born with AIDS or who got the disease from a blood transfusion. All the money the club raises here tonight from the slave auction will buy toys and TV sets for them, and pay medical expenses for kids whose families can't afford health insurance." 

"Well..." Fraser was obviously beginning to consider the matter in a new light. "Perhaps it is my duty, after all, Ray. I come from a country where everyone has health care provided by the government. It's part of the social contract between the Government of Canada and its citizens, and I really think--" 

"Yeah, Benny, you're right." Ray did not want to listen to one of Benny's learned discourses on the social contract just now. "See that bunch of guys near the front of the room? They're the slaves. I know you'd bring a higher price than any of them. Please, Benny? Will you do it?" 

The Mountie's face softened as Ray directed his tried-and-true, "please, sweetheart, just for me" look at him. "Well," he said, and ran the tip of a glistening pink tongue over his lips. 

Ray's heart skipped a beat: he knew exactly what that tongue could do, given half a chance and half an hour. 

"Well, Ray, what exactly is a slave required to do if purchased?" 

"It's simple, Benny. You just agree to spend a couple of hours with whoever 'buys' you. Usually it amounts to a drink, followed by dinner. Sometimes you have to wash someone's car or walk his Doberman--" 

"I don't think Dief would like that. And are you _sure_ that's all I'd be doing?" 

"Definitely. Whoa! You don't think I'd let anybody do anything else, do you? No, mister, the minute your two hours are up, off you go. In fact, I might even hang around and keep an eye on you the whole time you're with your, uh, owner." 

"Well..." The Mountie looked thoughtful. Ray's practiced eye could tell he was weakening. 

"All right, Ray. I'll do it for the children's sake. And you'll guarantee that I won't have to--to go beyond the normal duties of a temporary domestic worker. Right?" 

"Sure, Benny." Ray felt confident. "Come on, let's go over and put your name up." 

Ray cast a critical eye over the other "slaves." Almost all were young, many of them heaving with giggles as they lined up for inspection by potential bidders. Benny was older than the others and three times as attractive. He had no doubt that the Mountie would fetch the highest price of all, and therefore raise the most money for the Foundation for Pediatric AIDS. Ray glowed. He could see the smiles on those children's faces now. 

The bidding that followed was fairly restrained at first, as it rapidly became obvious that many of the bidders in the audience were "buying" their own lovers. The prices ranged from fifty to a hundred dollars. _We're gonna do better than that,_ Ray decided. After a moment's reflection, he approached the auction organizers and offered to act as the auctioneer when Benny was up on the block. 

The Mountie, looking so embarrassed that he could hardly raise his eyes from the floor, climbed up to the temporary stage and turned around slowly, so that prospective bidders could eye his charms from all angles. Even though he was fully clothed in red flannel shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots, Fraser was getting more whistles, catcalls, and foot-stompings than any of the other offerings. 

"Okay, okay, okay," Ray bellowed as he made his way to the dais on which Benny was standing. "All right, folks, let's start the bidding at an even hundred. You see this guy? Is he a hunk or what? And talented, too! His name is Fraser. If I hear a hundred fifty, Fraser will tell you an Inuit story while you're having dinner!" 

"A hundred fifty," someone called. 

"Listen to that folks, we've got someone of taste and refinement in the audience. A hundred fifty once! Now listen, folks, for two hundred Fraser will not only tell you an Inuit story during dinner, he will also play the guitar and sing! Hey, Frase, give 'em a coupla bars of 'Ride Forever.'" 

Fraser came out of his shell-shocked state long enough to look around the room and inquire, "Does anyone have a guitar?" 

A guitar was handed up to the dais; Fraser took it, tested a couple of chords, then began the opening bars of "Ride Forever": 

_I was born up north of Great Slave_  
In eighteen ninety-eight  
And I rode near all my life  
On a ranch near Devil's Gate--  


"Okay, okay, thanks very much, Fraser, we just want to give them a sample, not a freebie. Okay, folks, do I hear two hundred for Fraser, who will tell you an Inuit story, play the guitar, and sing?" 

"Five hundred," said a determined-sounding voice from the left side of the room. Ray craned his neck to see who was speaking. A blond man with a hard face and the body of a Kung Fu expert was leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyeing the Mountie with an expression that could be described by no other word than lustful. Man, he did not want this guy to buy Benny! 

"Five hundred, I'm bid, can anyone exceed this handsome offer? Are you gonna leave it at five hundred, folks? If I hear six hundred, Fraser will not only tell you an Inuit story, sing, and play the guitar, he'll take off his shirt!" 

"Oh, Ray!" Fraser's outraged whisper was heard only by Ray, because deafening cheers were coming from the audience. Ray beamed at the crowd, then whispered, "Hey, Benny, unbutton your shirt, show 'em a little bit of skin." 

"Ray!" 

"Just a little bit, Benny! C'mon, it's for the kids!" 

"All right." 

With an expression as near to sulking as Ray had ever seen on his lover's face, Fraser slowly unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall from his shoulders while a drum thumped, stripper fashion, at one side of the dais. As the beautifully sculpted pecs and abs were revealed, glistening with a faint sheen of sweat because of the heat of the room, the crowd roared its appreciation. Ray, looking around the room, smiled with satisfaction, and then sneaked a look himself. Benny's nipples looked like flat pink circles. It took, he knew from experience, exactly six-and-a-half twirls each of his tongue to make them look like little pink pearls. 

"Six hundred fifty!" 

"Seven hundred!" 

"Seven hundred and fifty." This came from the blond man with the hard face. 

Ray looked around. There was a little clump of men at the back of the room. How much would they ante up? 

"I'm offered seven hundred and fifty for Fraser here. Listen, if you can go to a thousand, Fraser will not only tell you an Inuit story"--the drum thumped again--"sing and play the guitar, and take off his shirt, he'll also start a fire in his boxer shorts!" 

"RAY!" 

"What, Benny? Hey, don't look so put out, you're going to drive the price down! What's the matter?" 

"Are you actually going to promise that I'll--that I will, er, you know, conflagrate my testicles?" 

Under the deafening applause, foot-stomping, and drum rolls that filled the room, Ray whispered back, "Wouldn't _that_ be great balls a-fire! No, Benny, you do not have to set fire to your scrotum. It's a matter of semantics, see? You'll start a fire in your boxers. That means you'll start it while "in" your boxers--wearing them, see?" 

"Ah." Fraser nodded, and straightened up. Ray bellowed into the mike again. 

"So, folks, do I hear a thousand for Benny here?" 

"One thousand," said the blond man. Ray looked at him. Damn it, the guy was already licking his chops. He hated this. He definitely did _not_ want to hand Benny over to this guy. But fair was fair. 

"A thousand once. Anyone want to go higher? Do I see one thousand, five hundred? No? A thousand twice. Okay, this is your last chance--" 

"Five thousand," said a foreign-accented voice from the back of the room. 

A buzz of conversation broke out and the drum crashed excitedly as all eyes turned toward the back of the room. The little knot of men surged back and forth, as several of its members seemed to be conferring with someone in the center of the group. 

Ray dragged a Ralph Lauren linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his dripping forehead with it. "Five thousand," he whispered. Five thousand smackeroos for two hours of Benny's company! This guy must be rich as a prince. The faces in the room turned toward him expectantly. On the dais, a relieved-looking Fraser began buttoning up his shirt. 

"Five thousand," Ray called. "Going once....five thousand, going twice....SOLD to the gentleman in the back of the room!" 

The little knot of men began to swarm toward Benny standing on the dais. In the center of the knot walked a slim, handsome young man with a trim black mustache and eyes as hot and black as Turkish coffee, wearing an Armani suit that Ray knew cost two thousand if it cost a nickel. 

The young man looked Benny up and down and smiled. Then he turned to an older, bulkier man with a dark beard and mustache, less expensively dressed, and something in an undertone. The older man approached Ray and pulled out a wallet. "Prince Abdulla Al Amoun, may he live a thousand years-- _inshallah!_ \--is pleased to pay the required amount for his new slave." The man opened the wallet, extracted five crisp one-thousand-dollar bills, and pressed them into Ray's hand. Ray simply stared, open-mouthed. In a daze, he put the money in the pocket of his jacket and moved over to the group surrounding Benny. 

He could see the Mountie standing in the center of the group, appearing to listen courteously to the conversation. Problem was, Ray couldn't understand a word. It was all some weird-sounding language, presumably Arabic. Just as he was wondering how to find out what the Prince had in mind for Benny's two hours of slave duty, the cluster of men began to move. Swiftly, too swiftly for Ray to prevent what was happening, the group coalesced around Benny like a whirlpool and swept through the door with the Mountie in the middle. 

"Hey, wait!" Ray yelled, and began to run after them. 

"You better stop them! And fast!" The voice in his ear sounded urgent. Turning his head, Ray was displeased to see the blond Kung Fu guy running along beside him. 

"What's it to you?" Ray, although concerned, still had no use for the guy who'd been prepared to cough up a thousand for Benny. 

"I understand Arabic, you idiot! I'm ex-Foreign Service. Prince Abdulla Al Amoun thinks your friend actually IS a slave--in his country they buy and sell human beings as a matter of course. He doesn't realize this was all in fun!" 

"Goddamn!" Ray sprinted out into the street, with Kung Fu Guy hard on his heels. 

Too late, they saw the black Rolls Royce disappearing down the street. 

"DAMN!" Ray ground his teeth. "What now?" 

"What now is we damn well find out where they're going," Kung Fu Guy said. He pulled out a cell phone and punched in a number. Ray turned as more men poured out of the club into the street, demanding to know what was going on. 

"My friend the Mountie's been abducted, that's what!" 

"We have no proof of that yet." Kung Fu Guy corrected. He folded up his cell phone and returned it to his jacket. "They're staying at the Balboa Pacific Hotel. I strongly suggest we go there, give the prince his money back, and persuade him to release your friend." 

"It's a plan," Ray agreed. He didn't like the way this guy was taking charge, although, of course, it was decent of him to be so helpful. If only he didn't suspect the guy of having an ulterior motive. "Who wants to go along for the ride and help rescue Fraser?" 

"I do! We do!" A dozen voices yelled. The enthusiasm of the bar patrons cheered Ray. It was always great to have backup. 

"You need to formulate a strategy before we go chasing after them," Kung Fu Guy said. "We can't all go charging up to their hotel, demanding that they talk to us. They'll have lots of high security. You've got to think of a way to get around that." 

"Okay, wise ass," Ray said. "What do you recommend?" 

"Well, if I were you," the other man said, seeming to recognize that Ray was dangerously close to losing his temper, "I'd reconnoiter first. This gang can wait in a place where they won't be seen. Hey," he said to the nearest of the bar patrons, "do you have a cell phone?" 

"Of course." The patron, a merry-faced young man with a mop of curly hair, produced one, as did every other member of the group. 

"Okay," Ray said, addressing the patrons. "Look, this guy--what's your name, by the way?" 

"Just call me Lanier." 

"Okay, Laneer. Guys, we're all going to the Balboa Pacific hotel. When we get there, Laneer and I are going to reconnoiter while you wait close by, so you can get there as soon as possible after we call. Got it?" 

"Yep," the nearest patron said. "Come on, guys. Man the motorscooters!" 

"I've got a car in the parking garage downstairs," Lanier said. 

"Then let's get moving." Ray felt his anxiety increasing with the passage of every second. Where was Benny and what the hell was happening to him? 

* * * * * * * * * 

Outside the large luxury hotel Ray and Lanier took the numbers of several of the backup team's cell phones, and instructed the men to wait in a pub on the ground floor. The two then entered the hotel lobby, where Ray pretended to admire the expensive goods in glass display cases while Lanier made a few inquiries at the front desk. 

Lanier came back to Ray and whispered, "The prince is on the twenty-fourth floor." 

"Good, let's go." 

"Not so fast. The public elevators only go to the twenty-second floor. You have to have a special key to get into the private elevator to the Prince's floor. And more bad news--the Prince is checking out tomorrow morning at seven to fly back to his native land in his private jet." 

"Jeez! We've got to get Benny back before then!" 

"Right. Now--what do you want to do about getting up to the twenty-fourth floor? The obvious method is out, of course. If you called Prince Abdulla and asked to speak to him, you wouldn't get him personally, you'd get one of his minions. And since the prince doesn't know you from Adam, there's no reason for him to grant your request for an immediate meeting." 

Ray considered. Lanier was right, irritatingly enough. What would Fraser do in a situation like this? "I guess they don't order pizza, huh?" 

"Not unless they could get camel pepperoni, which I hardly suppose they could, in this town. They're completely self-contained up there. No reason for them to order out." 

"Okay. No deliveries of movies from Blockbuster, no call girls coming in..." 

Lanier coughed. "I hardly think so, given where we encountered them." 

"Okay." Ray thought some more. "No use pretending to be from Customs and Immigration and demanding to see their papers, since they're leaving tomorrow morning anyway." 

"Right." 

"Damn," Ray said. He paced up and down the narrow hallway. "What do they _have_ to have? There must be something that they don't have that they need, or need more of!" 

Lanier stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. "Wonder if we could get authorization to search the suite for drugs...of course he might have diplomatic immunity, I'd have to check..." 

Ray stared at him, a ghost of an idea glimmering in his brain. "Lanier! What does _everyone_ need?" 

"Just tell me," Lanier urged. "No time for guessing games--every minute counts." 

"Air, man! Everyone needs air. Can I get into the air circulation system and look down through the vents to see what's going on? Self-contained or not, the suite is still part of this building, isn't it?" 

Lanier's eyes gleamed. "Good idea. Come with me while I make contact with the maintenance staff." 

Half an hour later, after he and Lanier had not only made contact with the maintenance staff (the hundred-dollar bills Lanier handed out proved instrumental in winning friends and influencing people), but acquired a complete set of identification badges, tools, and uniforms, Ray began to wonder whether Lanier was in fact " _ex_ -Foreign Service." Ray would have guessed "current CIA" or another, even more sinister, U.S. Government department. After zipping themselves into the aquamarine-colored overalls provided by their new friends, Ray and Lanier put on the baseball caps with the Balboa Pacific logo and prepared to take the service elevator with the special magnetic key Lanier had just procured. 

When they reached the 24th floor, Ray and Lanier quietly left the elevator and looked around. They were in a service area. Lanier shone a tiny penpoint flashlight along the edge of the ceiling, and nudged Ray. "Look." He spoke in a whisper. "There's the access panel to the heating, ventilation, and air conditioning system. I'll take the panel out, then give you a leg up. Here, hand me the Snakelight." 

Ray dropped to his hands and knees so Lanier could stand on him to loosen the edges of the access panel in the ceiling. After a minute or two, Lanier jumped off and Ray stood, stretching to ease his aching back. 

"Okay, Ray," Lanier whispered. "You've got the tools zipped in your pocket, right? Take the Snakelight and go on up." 

Ray draped the Snakelight around his neck, twisting the ends over each other so it would stay in place. Lanier knelt, Ray climbed on to his back, then hoisted himself through the square hole in the ceiling. Shining the flashlight around, he picked out the square shape of the metal housing of an air conditioning duct. As he tiptoed toward he tripped over something. Damn, a loose piece of insulation. He knelt, removed a pair of wirecutters from his pocket, and positioned the Snakelight so that he'd have sufficient light to perform his task. 

A few minutes later he had cut a hole in the aluminum housing, large enough to let him peer through the grille into the room below if he lay flat on his stomach. Ray switched off the light and lay down to look, scratching his nose as a loose fiber of insulation landed on it. 

It was kind of like being in a submarine, looking up through a periscope, he thought. His eye picked out details here and there: a pale carpet of luxurious thickness, stretching from wall to wall. Not much furniture. Plenty of light, though. He saw a flash of movement. Was that the prince? Where was Benny? Ray angled his head so he could see the opposite end of the room. What he saw made his eyes bulge to their fullest extent, and only the grace of God prevented an explosion of swear words escaping from his lips. 

Prince Abdulla, wearing nothing except a white thong bathing suit, was pushing an enormous wooden disk with one hand. The disk stood on its side like a huge, up-ended lazy susan or carousel. And spread-eagled on the disk, with his wrists and ankles bound to metal brackets in the wood, wearing an expression of utter stupefaction, was Fraser. 

He was naked except for the gaily embroidered pillbox hat perched on top of his head. As the carousel turned in slow revolutions at the touch of the prince's hand, the prince gazed at his newly acquired property with an expression of the utmost delight. 

As Ray watched in breathless fascination, the Prince stopped the carousel while Benny was in a horizontal position: this brought Benny's feet to about the level of the Prince's waist. The prince bent over and began to suck each one of Benny's toes in turn, while somewhere unseen a CD player blared forth the eerie whines and wails of a Middle Eastern love song. 

"God!" 

Never in his whole _life_ had he seen anything like this! Here was his lover, tied up like a chicken about to be grilled, being subjected to unspeakable Middle Eastern delights by this fiendish prince, and in imminent danger of being ravished. Ray craned his neck even further, desperate to know whether Benny was enjoying this. A minute or so of intense focus on Benny's face reassured him: although Benny was, of course, forced to take this lying down--tied up as he was, he could hardly do otherwise--the Mountie's lips were moving. Although he couldn't hear what Fraser was saying because of the wailing music, Ray felt almost sorry for the prince. When Benny got going on one of his half-hour Inuit tales, the only way to shut him up was to kiss the hell out of him. 

Evidently the same idea had struck the prince. He let go of Fraser's toes, stepped back to give the giant lazy susan another push with his hand, and waited for the wheel to stop turning. When it did, Fraser was vertical once more. The prince grabbed a large brocaded hassock, dragged it over to the carousel, hopped on to it, and then proceeded to kiss the Mountie. 

Ray felt his stomach churn. Who did this freakin' Prince Armfulla Mountee think he was, anyway? _That's my guy you're molesting, you prize jerk!_ How Benny must be suffering. Actually, he could see from the way that Benny was twisting his head from side to side to escape the prince's lips, that the Mountie was resisting to the extent he could. Ray cheered up. 

Appearing to give up on this tactic, the prince hopped off the hassock, dragged it out of the way, and spun the carousel again. This time, when the wheel came to rest, Benny was upside down, protesting volubly. And this time an extremely interesting--and vulnerable--part of his anatomy was now at the prince's lip level. Then Ray noticed something else. Benny's pubic area had been completely shaved, so that the skin there was as smooth as the rest of his body. Moreover, Ray could see that in spite of Benny's attempts to resist the prince's blandishments, he was becoming aroused. His cock was standing straight up, hard, rosy-red, a plum ripe for picking. 

Ray watched jealously as the prince licked Benny's cock experimentally: clearly, he was pleased by his first taste of it, because the next thing he did was take the whole cockhead into his mouth. Ray fumed, but silently, and felt a tickle up his nose. So intent was he on pressing his finger just under his nostrils to stop the sneeze that he almost missed what came next--Benny trying to shake off the prince by kneeing him. Although the Mountie had very little purchase because of his ankles being securely fastened to the brackets, he managed to knock the prince backwards so that he landed on his ass. After a few seconds, the prince slowly got to his feet again, still smiling. He stood with arms akimbo, staring at his squirming booty, clearly considering his next move. 

Ray couldn't stand it a minute longer. For one thing, he had to get the hell out of here and rescue Benny from a fate worse than death; for another, the insulation in the attic was getting to him. He could feel his sinuses filling up in allergic reaction to the fibers already. He inched away from the peephole, crawling backward, cautiously, until he reached the access panel. He peered through it. 

"Ladier! You still dowd there?" 

"Yeah! You coming down?" 

"Yep. Watch it, I'm godda jub!" 

Ray landed beside Lanier and briefed him rapidly on the situation. 

"What are you going to do, Ray?" 

"I thig id's tibe to ged the others id od this," Ray said. "Oh, dab, I cad even talk. By head's filled up." 

"Somehow we've got to get the prince's people to open the front door to us. We could pretend to be searching for a gas leak or toxic fumes or something--that might induce the hotel manager to call the prince's suite and get them to open the door." 

Ray stared at the other man. "You doh wad? You hab too beddy good ideas to be a civiliad. I bed you're CIA." 

An expression of alarm crossed Lanier's face. "I am, but for God's sake don't broadcast it!" 

Not for the first time that evening, Ray wondered about the exact nature of Lanier's interest in all this, but he shoved that thought to the back of his mind. The important thing was that Lanier, for whatever reason, was being an enormous help. "Bag to your plad--how do we bake the prids oped the door?" 

Lanier frowned. "H'm. In this country you need a search warrant to search someone's dwelling." 

"Nod always." Ray chortled. "Led be tell you by idea." 

* * * * * * * * 

Twenty minutes later, Ray and Lanier, both with guns cocked, stepped out of the elevator on the twenty-fourth floor of the Balboa Pacific hotel, followed by a dozen men whose exuberance at taking part in this late-night adventure emanated from them like a cloud of laughing gas. 

"Ready?" Ray asked. 

Lanier nodded, and the rest of the troop surged behind him. 

Ray turned, pressed the doorbell. Almost immediately, a foreign-accented voice spoke on the intercom. "Who are you? What business have you with his Excellency the Prince Abdulla Al Amoun? How did you get here?" 

"Open up!" Ray yelled. "We're bounty hunters! Open up in the dame of the law!" 

"Bounty hunters? Don't shoot, please don't shoot! We will open up the door immediately in one moment, Excellency!" 

Almost immediately the door opened to reveal three agitated-looking gentlemen huddling together. The man who had paid Ray earlier in the evening spoke first, in a voice that trembled. "In the name of Allah, the All-Compassionating, the Compassionate, do not shoot us, Excellency! For truly, we have done nothing wrong." 

Ray glared at him. "Let us id!" Then he spoke over his shoulder to the crowd. "Cub od, gag, charge! Let's rescue by friend the Bountie!" 

The men charged through the doorway. Ray, at their head, flashed his Chicago Police Department ID at the three Arabs, trusting that they did not read English well enough to know that he was _way_ out of jurisdiction. 

The backup team swarmed around the three frightened foreigners and began shouting. "All right, guys, where's the Mountie? We're hunting the Mountie! What have you done with him?" 

"Mountie?" The spokesman looked puzzled. "But, Excellency, I thought you said you were bounty hunters?" 

"So I'b a liddle congesded, wad's the big deal?" Ray pushed past the three bodyguards into the room beyond. "Fraser! Where the hell are you?" 

"In here, Ray!" Fraser sounded desperate, Ray thought as he erupted into the room beyond. Prince Abdulla, looking furious, was opening his mouth to speak when he was surrounded by a swarm of men who swept him out the door. 

"Jeez, Benny, wad did he do to you?" 

"Nothing much, Ray," his lover said, smiling at him gratefully as Ray cut him down from the carousel. "Fortunately, you got here before he could really, er, get going." 

"This was a very bad idea of mine, Benny, sorry." 

"Never mind, Ray, it's over now." 

"Where's your clothes?" Ray looked around the room, but there was nowhere Benny's clothes could be concealed, considering the lack of furniture in the room. "Here, Benny, put on this overall of mine, you can't parade through the streets like that. And take that goddamn organ-grinder's monkey hat off!" 

"Very well, Ray." 

"Come on, Benny, let's go." 

Ray seized Fraser by the arm and yanked him out of the room. In the other room the bar patrons were surrounding the prince, who looked not entirely unhappy at the sight of so many admiring faces, and Lanier was throwing a tantrum in Arabic before the three seriously unhappy-looking bodyguards. At length one of them bowed, left the room, and reappeared a few minutes later with a plump, frightened-looking little man who wore a long white chef's apron. 

"All right guys," Lanier said, "come on, we're out of here!" 

Fraser tapped Ray on the arm. "Ray, give the prince his money back." 

"He had an hour and a half of your company, I'm keeping back a thou. He can have the rest," Ray said, as he handed Benny the other four bills. 

The Mountie offered them to Prince Abdulla, who by this time had one arm around a red-haired young man who was licking his ear. With his free hand the prince was stroking the curly hair of the merry-faced young patron Ray had spoken to earlier. The prince stopped his stroking and waved the bills away with an imperious gesture. Fraser raised his eyebrows, bowed to the prince, and followed Ray, Lanier, and Lanier's hostage out of the suite. Once the door shut behind them Ray sighed with relief. "Thank God that's over! Lanier, where's the elevator key?" 

In the elevator, Ray introduced Benny to Lanier, after which the four men looked blankly at each other. Ray still couldn't figure out Lanier's real agenda. Finally, he pointed to the hostage. "Who's that guy, Lanier?" 

"He's Prince Abdulla's cook. I'm going to interrogate him." 

"What on earth for? Would you mind telling me what you're up to? You didn't help rescue my friend here out of sheer altruism, did you?" 

Lanier had the grace to look embarrassed. "Not entirely, no. I was looking for a way to get in here, and your situation, serious as it was, provided a heaven-sent opportunity." 

"A heaven-sent opportunity for _what_ , Lanier?" 

"I'll tell you if you promise not to breathe a word. I'm going to question that cook over there and get him to reveal his secret recipe. You see, Chef Tariq has a roast lamb-and-apricot casserole that has to be experienced to be believed. He cooks it very slowly all day," Lanier said, with relish, "so that the lamb thoroughly absorbs the flavor of the apricots. It's served on a bed of saffron rice, seasoned with a little nutmeg, flavored lightly with lemon, and--" Lanier's voice dropped half an octave and became hushed to the point of reverence, "garnished with a dusting of ground pistachio nuts and sprigs of fresh mint. You wash it down with a--" 

Ray stared. "I thought you said you were CIA!" 

"I am." In a flash Lanier pulled a small wallet from his overall pocket, snapped it open. Ray leaned forward to examine the ID card. It read: "Culinary Institute of America." 

"Hell, I thought you were a spy!" 

"So I am--an industrial spy. Sorry to disappoint, if you thought I was the cloak-and-dagger kind." 

"Well," Ray said, "I hope you get your recipe. Thanks for all your help." 

"You're welcome. Would you and Fraser like a ride back to your hotel?" 

"That would be most kind of you," Fraser said. 

* * * * * * * 

As they entered their hotel room, Ray switched on the light, put the chain on the door, and tested it to make sure it was locked. Then he enfolded Fraser in his arms, bringing him close. He couldn't stop apologizing. "Benny, I'm so sorry, I had no idea it was going to end like that--" 

The Mountie shrugged. "It's all right, Ray. It wasn't very comfortable while it was going on, but it's over now. Actually, it was quite an interesting exercise in intercultural relations--" 

"RELATIONS? I thought you said you didn't have any with him!" 

"Sore-y, Ray, I shouldn't have used that word. Nothing happened to me beyond, um, a little, um, hanky-panky, I suppose you'd call it." 

"I know. I was watching through the air conditioning grille. I couldn't believe what that guy was doing to you." 

Ray held his lover away from him and looked searchingly into his face. Then he noticed what his agitation had hitherto prevented his realizing, that Benny was wearing more makeup than a Barbie doll: his eyes were starkly outlined in kohl, his mouth lipsticked, his face powdered. "Jeez, Benny, what's all that stuff on your face? You suffering from Venus envy?" 

"Prince Abdulla's servants put it on me," Fraser said. "They did all kinds of things to me, some of them too embarrassing to mention. I must say--" Benny licked his lips and Ray felt his heart go ka-BOOM "--it all had the effect of making me, um, well, I'm actually ashamed of myself, but I feel quite, ah..." 

"I know, Benny. I felt quite, ah, myself, when I was watching. But I don't want to make love to you with that other guy's pawprints all over you. Come on, fella, I'm going to scrub you down from head to foot." 

Seconds after they'd peeled off their clothes, Ray dragged Benny into the shower to make good his promise. Ten minutes later, when the hot water had cleared Ray's nostrils of every last fiber of insulation and left Benny as pink and clean as a steamed shrimp (and in Ray's opinion, every bit as succulent), Ray toweled his lover dry. 

"Ouch!" Fraser winced as Ray patted his groin dry with the towel. "I'm a bit sensitive there, Ray, after the prince's servants shaved me. In fact, I was wondering if you'd put some oil on that area. I think there's some left in the bottle I was using on you last night." 

Ray raised his eyes to Benny's face and gave him a lazy smile. He remembered last night very well. "With pleasure, Benny." 

He laid a fresh towel on the bed in case the oil dripped, and Fraser sank down on it, stretching out on the bed with his arms behind his head. Ray poured a little oil into the palm of his hand, rubbed both hands together lightly, and then began to stroke Benny's bare skin. In the lamplight, with his damp hair curling around his face, the rest of his body shaven smooth, his skin still dewy from the recent shower, Benny looked like a Greek god. 

"Jeez, you're beautiful, Benny," Ray said, and dropped a kiss on to the silken skin of Benny's groin. Benny moaned and bent one long leg. His eyelids fluttered open, and he encircled Ray's neck with one arm, bringing Ray's head down near his own. 

Looking into his lover's eyes, Ray almost passed out at what he saw there. When Benny wore that expression, Ray felt as if he were falling into a well of desire, a well so deep that he was in danger of drowning. 

"Ray," Benny breathed softly, and placed the tips of his fingers lightly on Ray's back. His lips parted, ready to receive Ray's kiss. 

"Benny, babe..." Ray kissed him, reveling in the sweet heat of Benny's mouth, the smoothness of Benny's tongue against his own. Withdrawing, he trailed his lips from Benny's forehead, down the soft cheeks to the perfect column of his throat, down to his nipples. They already looked like pink pearls. Beneath him Benny moaned and wriggled, and Ray knew that his lover was in a such a high state of arousal that he would need very little to send him over the edge. He considered: what would push Benny right over? 

The silky sleekness of his newly shaven lover was incredibly erotic: Ray loved it. Without further ado, he pulled Benny's legs over his shoulders and proceeded to lick the oiled softness of Benny's groin from side to side, around his balls, around the base of Benny's shaft, now so hard it was standing up ramrod-straight. 

"Oh, Rayyyyy....." Benny, eyes closed, moved his head from side to side on the pillow. "Ray...." 

Ray licked his way up to the head of Benny's cock, then made the tip of his tongue very pointed so as to explore the slit. Slowly he moved the tip of his tongue back and forth inside it, while his lover moaned and clutched his shoulders so hard that Ray wondered with part of his mind whether he'd have bruises there the next day. 

"Oh, God, oh, GOD, Ray!" 

Benny's cock was weeping pre-cum now; the Mountie was obviously so ready that making him wait any longer would rank as sheer torture. Ray took Benny's cock into his mouth, pulling at it softly with his lips, then sucking with increasing vigor. He didn't have long to wait before Benny came, sobbing out his love for Ray, shuddering as wave after wave of orgasm tore through him. Ray's own arousal was peaking by now: Benny's excitement always intensified his own. By this time he was near bursting-point. At last Benny collapsed flat onto the surface of the bed. Ray stroked his cheek, whispered into his ear. "You ready for some more, Benny?" 

"Yes," came the whispered answer. 

Ray rolled Benny on to his stomach, thinking that his lover would be more comfortable in this position. He covered the fingers of one hand with oil and then began to tenderly stroke the cleft between Benny's buttocks. When the first of his oil-sleek fingers slipped down to Benny's hole and entered him, his lover moaned his pleasure. By the time Ray added a second, then a third oiled finger, Benny was moving uncontrollably: he turned himself over onto his back again, pulled Ray down in one fierce movement, slid his legs over Ray's shoulders. Ray entered him immediately, knowing that he himself was almost over the edge and to wait any longer would be useless. As he felt his lover's anal ring yield to his own insistent cock, he pressed deeper and deeper until finally Benny's strong internal muscles squeezed him dry and they came together, shaking the bed with their thrusting, rending the air with their cries. 

Ray felt his mind spinning off somewhere, but with an enormous effort of will he came back to himself. Making love with Benny was heaven, it was all ecstasy and no agony, he felt as if he'd died and been reborn. 

"Ray..." It was a whisper, so faint he might have imagined it. He opened his eyes. Benny was looking up at him, smiling that fallen-angel smile that always made Ray feel that his stomach had dropped out of him: the sheer sexy force of it drove him, metaphorically speaking, to his knees. 

"You're wonderful, you're fantastic, I'm your slave for life," Benny whispered. 

Ray laughed softly. "No, Benny, you've got it the wrong way around. I'm the one who's enslaved, and not just for life--for all eternity." 

****

The End

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*Copyright October 1997 by Rupert Rouge on all original story content. Not meant to infringe on copyrights held by Alliance Communications, or any other copyright holders for _due South._ "Ride Forever," by Paul Gross and David Keeley, published by Don't Blink Music, Inc., copyright 1996. "Snakelight" is a registered trademark of Black  & Decker Corporation. Please do not reproduce for anything other than personal reading use without written consent of the author. Comments welcome at. 

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